


oh love, i'm there in memories

by hellchoirs



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Hurt Klaus Hargreeves, M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22469437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellchoirs/pseuds/hellchoirs
Summary: "If only there could be an invention that bottled up a memory, like scent. And it never faded, and it never got stale. And then, when one wanted it, the bottle could be uncorked, and it would be like living the moment all over again."
Relationships: Dave/Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	oh love, i'm there in memories

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> This is my first fanfic I've written, so I hope you like it and I'm very open to any/all feedback.  
> It's just a quick short thing, but I'd love to explore more of Klaus' character and hopefully you agree and might like to see more.  
> Thank you!
> 
> Summary is a quote taken from the book 'Rebecca' by Daphne Du Maurier.

Metal remained unyielding beneath his grasp. Hard, no matter how tight he might curl his fist around it, solid no matter how he might tug it from the chain around his neck, this way and that, and how he might press his thumb down upon the Star of David that rose from the surface only slightly to meet his touch, whilst the bottom remained caught in his palm, effectively trapped in a position that ought to twist it out of form. It remained cool almost indefinitely, whether or not it had spent an entire day dormant in the creases of his skin, the cave of his clasped together hands, as if either Klaus' own body remained unsettlingly cool or as if the metal was making an attempt at thrusting Dave's presence closer to him more than just visibly; remaining as cool as his corpse probably was, wherever it may have been buried.

Red lines had risen in the outline of the dog tags on his skin, cutting through the dark, messy scrawl of his tattoo, as permanent as a tattoo in itself. 

The motion of reaching for the dog tags had become subconscious and frequent for Klaus now; not a day went by where his hands didn't grace the metal, let alone hardly an hour, whether he was aware of it or not. He couldn't be quite sure whether it was a motion that brought him comfort or torment - perhaps both. It was the only connection he had to Dave and, in a very distant sense, it felt as if he was reaching out his hand to one of Dave's, their fingertips brushing, before his fingers might curl around Dave's wrist, firm and secure. But it was only that; no further than his wrist, his arm would disappear as if reaching out to him through a thick cloud of fog, obscuring the rest of himself from Klaus' view, and Klaus could not penetrate the fog and lunge forth to Dave like he oh so wanted to. So he had to settle for his hand, his wrist; had to settle for metal and lettering. 

On the other hand, it only further solidified the fact that this was all that existed of Dave, for Dave was long gone, little more than memories and metal. It only reminded Klaus that he would no longer see these hanging from Dave's neck, resting just above his heart, or clasped in his hands when his eyes went heavenward and his lips moved in a prayer quietly murmured, often times when they were either on their way to action or on their way back from it. No longer would he see the way they reflected warm lights that morphed from orange to pink to purple, nearly almost in time to the beat of old sixties music that Klaus could feel reverberating through Dave's bones when he might lean close, close enough for Klaus to splay his hand out on his shoulder, his back, his arm; anywhere he could touch without drawing too much attention to them both. 

Now, they would remain like a gravestone that would haunt Klaus, and yet they would also remain like the bouquet of flowers that ought to rest upon the grave; something lonesome and cold and sad, something that would preserve his memory and carry it on throughout life, cared for and loved. They would hang from Klaus' neck for eternity and more, there like an anchor to keep him in the past and a part of Dave for Klaus to bring him forwards in life.

Klaus’ thumb swiped over the letters forming Dave’s name, smooth bumps bubbling from the metal.

The dog tags brought with them a sense of love, unwavering and unconditional, fierce in the way it had been hidden behind closed doors and in the darkness of quiet moments stolen away from everyone else, brave in the barrel of their guns on the front lines, in the mud clinging to the soles of their boots that they never could wash off, pounded in from thundering footsteps running to and fro, and they brought a sense of being watched, of comfort, of arms around him, materialising from behind him, and a chest against his back that allowed him to feel the steady, strong thump of a heartbeat.

They brought the breath of a ghost against the shell of his ear, warm, shallow, with words whisper tenaciously from lips he knew to be soft and almost always curling upwards in a lopsided smile, or spitting out a laugh that bubbled from deep within his chest like the sound of thunder coming from outside of a warmly lit house. They brought large, calloused hands that fit over his own with fingers that would curl around to touch the centre of his palm and squeeze, ever so subtle, an action hidden in their own bubble of reality that was safe and soft.

And yet they brought the violent crack of endless gunshots, the ear-ringing whizz of a bullet too close, dancing tauntingly over skin and leaving in its wake a path of white-hot fire and a strange ache that lasted for days. They brought the smell of smoke that curled down his throat like tendrils that lodged into his throat and grew and remained there like dark cobwebs, suffocating and hot and something he learned to get used to quickly. It brought those gentle, bright eyes that flamed suddenly with feverish pain, staring blind at a sky lit up with gunfire, going straight through Klaus. It brought the smell of copper as it bubbled over soft lips, followed by muffled groans of pain, struggling breaths getting slower and slower.

Inside the metal lettering resided memories, so many memories that burst forth freely in vivid detail in his skull, on his eyelids, whenever he dared touch it, like the violent rush of a free waterfall, uncontrollable, overwhelming.

He wished that he could choose what these memories were. He wished that these dog tags might be like an option to relive the good moments, the best moments; a way to turn back the clock momentarily, to bring Dave back to life beneath his fingertips.

He would relive, perhaps, their first kiss; that gentle thing in the corridor of that pub, when his head had been spinning and only slightly from the whiskey, when his fingertips had smelled like tobacco and his body had been boneless, slouched back against the wall, and Dave’s body had been warm beside his and he had been leaning close to tell him a joke that made his ribs tremble with laughter, and then they had stopped dancing around the close-calls that had been happening all night. He would relive the feel of Dave’s hand devouring his cheek in a gentle, sturdy caress, urging his head to tilt ever so slightly upwards so that he could meet his lips perfectly, and he would relive the way Dave’s had joined his and how it had sent butterflies exploding from the marrow of his bones, and how the taste of him had been more intoxicating and addictive than any drug he had ever done.

He’d relive the little stolen kisses, the quick ones committed on patrol when they were alone in the shadows of towering trees, with no one but the stars to bear witness to these secret moments, and how Dave knew the names of each intricate pattern of stars that hovered overhead and how he had told Klaus when they sat together a half hour’s walk from the village they were currently residing in, his shoulder against Klaus’, his arm raised to point them out, his voice low as if breaking the peace around them would shatter the moment they were in, as if it might ever dare ruining the way his low voice enticed Klaus to turning his head and watching his lips move hypnotically, in such a way that Klaus found it hard to breathe and the only cure seemed to be to lean forwards and steal Dave’s breath instead.

If only those tags were such a blessed item, such a perfect thing; Klaus might never let go and instead give himself up to the past; he would throw himself into it and let it devour him whole if it could. He would let it steal him from this world if it allowed him to live there, in already gone moments that he only longed to have back.

But it isn’t so, and he can’t have it like that, and he’d rather subject himself to every love and every pain if it meant even having one thing of Dave left with him, if it meant not forgetting a single moment with him.

And so this time, when Klaus reaches towards the metal with a hand bathed in the light of a dim moon surrounded by stars he could still name, he throws himself forwards into the torrent of memories, both good and bad, ones that felt like a familiar embrace and a sense of love so strong it was nearly overwhelming, and the ones that felt horror and flames in his bones and more pain than Klaus thought he could feel without ever been hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> As said before, this is my first fanfic I've written so I'd love to hear any feedback of any kind!  
> I hope you liked it, and I'll hopefully get around to posting more content soon and exploring all of the Hargreeves' characters.  
> Thank you!


End file.
